


Coffee Tables & Good Company

by violet_storms



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Friendship, Gen, IKEA, IKEA Furniture, Team Sassy Science (Hannibal), they deserve the world, this is literally just team sassy science being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_storms/pseuds/violet_storms
Summary: Beverly needs a new coffee table, and Jimmy and Brian help her assemble it. Lots of fluff and Team Sassy Science bonding ensues.
Relationships: Beverly Katz & Jimmy Price & Brian Zeller
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Coffee Tables & Good Company

“Brian, if you don’t stop singing that song, your body is gonna be the next one on this table!”

Beverly Katz sighed as she hung up her lab coat, not even turning around to acknowledge her coworkers’ bickering. She already knew exactly how they were standing: on opposite sides of the silver autopsy table, Brian’s arms crossed, Jimmy’s waving in the air as he argued his point. It was their third spat of the day, the tiebreaker round.

“It’s a good song!” said Brian defensively. He hummed another verse. _Cause I can’t fight this feeling anymore...I’ve forgotten what I—_

Beverly glanced over to see Jimmy’s affronted expression, as if Brian’s liking for the song “Can’t Fight This Feeling” had done him a personal insult. “No, it’s not a good song!” he interrupted. “It’s _objectively_ not a good song!”

“Then explain to me how it was number one on Billboard for a month when it came out,” said Brian.

“Because it’s catchy!”

“There, see! It’s good, you just said—”

“I said it was catchy, not good! It’s catchy and _bad!”_

“They’re the same thing!”

“No, they’re not!”

And then, in unison— “Beverly!”

“It’s a bad song, Brian,” said Beverly, finally turning to face them. Then, off his crestfallen look, she added, “But it is really catchy.”

“I’m telling you it’s the same thing,” said Brian, shrugging out of his own lab coat.

“They aren’t the same thing!” said Jimmy. “They’re _different words!”_

“Ever heard of synonyms?”

Jimmy looked like he was going to explode. Beverly suppressed a smile as she threw her scarf over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go,” she said, and headed down the hall, the familiar sounds of Jimmy and Brian’s quiet bickering following her. She pushed open the doors and stepped out into the cold—then instantly stepped back inside, making eye contact with Jimmy and doing a throat-cutting motion with one hand. 

“I forgot my phone!” said Jimmy loudly. Brian, who had been too caught up in the argument to notice their exchange, barely had time to look surprised before Jimmy was dragging him back around the corner. “Help me look.”

“Why do you need help—”

Beverly didn’t waste time listening to the rest. She knew Jimmy would keep him occupied for as long as it took for her to open the door, dash down the stairs, and deal with— 

Freddie Lounds, who was lingering in the parking lot, her breath making small white clouds in the frosty December air. She looked up and saw Beverly approaching, and before Freddie could decide whether or not to smile, Beverly had reached her and linked their arms together.

“Freddie, so good to see you,” she said, steering them away from the building with fast-paced steps. Freddie was too surprised to resist. “How have you been? I love your hair. Oh look, isn’t this your car?”

“Excuse me, I have an appointment,” said Freddie, slamming her heels into the ground before Beverly could take her any further.

“With who? Give me a name.”

“It isn’t any of your business, actually. So no.”

Beverly surveyed her, raising both eyebrows, but Freddie didn’t back down. “All right,” said Beverly, half admiring the other woman’s tenacity, half annoyed by it. “Well, then you’re going to reschedule. Or, better yet, you’re going to have it off this building’s premises.”

“And why would I do that?”

“As a favor to me,” said Beverly. “On behalf of my friend Brian Zeller. You’ve met.”

Freddie didn’t wince, just pursed her lips. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that.”

Freddie glanced down at their arms, which Beverly suddenly realized were still linked together. She wanted to let go, but something about the way the journalist was standing made Beverly feel almost guilty about doing so. She couldn’t imagine that people touched Freddie Lounds very often. 

“Well,” said Freddie. “I suppose I could...reschedule. What time?”

“Our lunch break is at one. Come back then if you have to. Stay away from the break room and I don’t care what you do, I just don’t want you to mess him up again.”

“I understand that,” said Freddie, her voice tinged with...was it regret? The stab of pity went through Beverly again. She was on the brink of sympathy, but then Freddie brightened and said, “Do tell Will Graham I said hello.”

Oh, right. Beverly had almost forgotten who she was talking to.

“See you, Freddie,” she said, finally dropping her arm. The journalist got into her car and Beverly watched her drive away. Then she hurried back up the stairs and leaned against the side of the building. A few seconds later, the door swung open and Jimmy and Brian came out.

“Sorry about that,” said Brian, rolling his eyes. “He forgot his phone.”

She and Jimmy smiled at each other—they had it down to a science without even having to discuss it. Beverly pictured a glass box in their minds, the words “BREAK IN CASE OF FREDDIE LOUNDS” printed on it. She wondered if Brian and Jimmy had a similar box for her and what it said. Probably something along the lines of “BREAK IN CASE OF WILL GRAHAM.” The thought made her frown.

“You okay?” Jimmy asked her. Beverly shook herself.

“Yeah, fine.” She gave him a smile. “Ready for IKEA?”

Brian groaned. “I don’t know why you’re making us go with you.”

“You made us go to that farmer’s market with _you,”_ said Beverly. “If I had to watch you look at fruit for an hour, you should be able to help me pick a new coffee table.”

“She has a point,” said Jimmy, opening his car door. They had carpooled to work today since they were leaving together. Jimmy slid into the driver’s seat and Brian and Beverly both went for the passenger door at the same time.

“Hey, not fair! You sat shotgun on the way here!” complained Brian, trying to push her out of the way.

“Exactly, finders keepers,” said Beverly, getting a grip on the handle of the door.

“That doesn’t apply here!”

“How old are you two?” said Jimmy. “I’m embarrassed to be seen with you.”

“As if you wouldn’t do this. Ha!” Beverly succeeded in squirming through the door Brian was now trying to push closed and buckled herself in. Brian made a face at her and climbed into the backseat. Beverly glanced out the window and realized Jack Crawford was standing by his car and had been watching their struggle. She waved and he shook his head in mock disapproval. Or real disapproval; it was hard to be sure with Jack.

Jimmy pulled out of the parking lot and Beverly read him the directions for IKEA. Brian stuck his head up from the back, trying to reach the radio. Beverly slapped his hand away. “Just tell me what station you want.” 

Brian told her. She noticed his evil grin too late.

_It’s time to bring this ship into the shore...and throw away the oars...‘cause baby I can’t fight this feeling anymore..._

“So help me, I will crash this car!” shouted Jimmy. 

“It’s a good fucking song!”

“Jimmy! Watch the road!” screamed Beverly.

It was a long drive.

“We are here to get a coffee table,” Beverly said, for what felt like the millionth time. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

She was talking to herself as much as Jimmy and Brian. They had each been distracted by different things—Jimmy had to be talked out of the wine rack, while Brian coveted the kitchen display cart. Beverly had to smile at that one. None of their coworkers knew about Brian’s cooking skills, and he had made them swear to keep it that way. She knew the cart would look great in his kitchen, but they weren’t here for any kitchen related items. They were here for the coffee table. 

“These shelves would look so nice, though...” she mused.

“Bev, you broke your last coffee table because you forced it to bear so much weight. Those shelves would snap right off your wall,” said Brian.

“Shouldn’t we have found the coffee tables by now? We’re at the end of the living room section,” said Jimmy.

“I have a terrible suspicion that we walked past them,” confessed Beverly. “Should we retrace our steps...?”

“No, no, we can’t think like that,” said Brian, pushing forward. “I refuse to go back through the miles of light bulbs and lamps!”

“Wait, here they are,” said Jimmy. “Stop, stop! Here, behind the Knislinge!”

“I am a thousand percent sure you said that wrong,” said Brian. Jimmy ignored him.

“Hmm.” Beverly examined the coffee tables. “There aren’t as many as I thought there would be.”

“Don’t even think about it,” said Brian. “We did not go through all this for you not to buy one. C’mon, what are you feeling? The Lunnarp? The Lack?”

“I kind of like this one. The...Vittsjo?” Jimmy and Brian stared at her. “What?”

“That has a _glass top,_ Bev,” said Jimmy. “It’s like you want to slice your hands open. It’ll break in five seconds.”

“Oh, fine. The Lunnarp, then.”

“Nice, nice,” said Brian. “Alright! Which way to the exit?”

Beverly winced. “I hate to tell you this, Brian, but that’s kind of not how IKEA works...”

It was only after they had walked all the way through the rest of the store that they realized they had forgotten to take a picture of the label. They stared at the rows and rows of furniture, no idea which aisle the Lunnarp was in, let alone bin. Jimmy rallied quickly.

“Okay, so we split up. Text the group chat when you find it.”

“There’s a billion aisles, it’ll take forever,” Brian moaned, but he trudged off toward the Aisle One all the same. “You owe me,” he said over his shoulder to Beverly. She gave him the finger.

The Lunnarp turned out to be in Aisle Seventeen. Jimmy and Beverly loaded the box onto the cart, which Brian had a little too much fun pushing around and nearly slammed into one of the giant shelves. After they’d checked out, they shoved the thing in Jimmy’s trunk and drove off, feeling successful in their mission.

Of course, that feeling wouldn’t last too long.

The coffee table would not fit through the door.

“Are you lifting from your legs?” asked Brian, who was already inside Beverly’s apartment. Jimmy was in the hall, and Beverly was wedged in the doorway, fruitlessly trying to rotate the large box.

“I don’t know what I’m lifting from at this point,” she said.

“Jimmy, I think you have to be lower,” said Brian. “We’re gonna have to push it through horizontally.”

“It is horizontal! And who is ‘we’? I don’t see you doing anything,” huffed Jimmy, giving the box another shove.

“Wait, wait, I got it!” said Beverly, and then the box shot through the doorway, narrowly missing Brian, who in turn nearly crashed into a large stack of books and plates piled on the floor. “Be careful!”

“I was being careful! Then you tried to murder me with the Lunnarp!”

Beverly rolled her eyes at him. “Get us some scissors, would you?”

“Where?” 

“I don’t know, there’s a pair somewhere.” She surveyed the mess that was her apartment floor. “Huh. I think they were on the other one.”

“Oh great,” said Brian with a sigh, crouching down to comb through the pile of items that had been the cause of the collapse of the previous coffee table.

“Bev, what do you have against bookshelves?” inquired Jimmy.

“The good color bookshelves are more expensive than the good color coffee tables! I don’t want one of those ugly white bookshelves messing up the flow of the apartment.”

“Right, because _that’s_ what’d mess up ‘the flow’ of this place,” said Brian from the floor. He held up a bent pair of scissors. “Here you go.”

“Nice.” Beverly tore through the tape and the three of them sat on the floor, unpacking the Lunnarp. It only took fifteen minutes of arguing about what went where until Jimmy banished Brian and Beverly to the couch and happily continued putting the coffee table together, face screwed up in concentration. For a while, Beverly affectionately watched Brian watch Jimmy. Then he turned to her and said, “So, apparently Will Graham asked Jack to resign.”

“What, really?” said Beverly, sitting up from where she had been reclining across the couch.

“Yeah. Jack mentioned it in passing when we were processing the angel maker. From what I gathered, Jack guilted him into staying on.”

Beverly leaned back again. “Well, that’s a low blow from Jack, but I’m glad Will’s staying.”

“Yeah, of course you are,” said Brian.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re only glad he’s staying because you have a crush on him.”

“I don’t have _a crush_ on him, how old do you think I am?” said Beverly. She paused. “However, if he, at any time, hinted to me that he would be down to f—”

“Ha! Knew it!” said Brian triumphantly. “I _knew_ you liked him!”

Beverly opened her mouth, ready to fire back with a comment about him and Jimmy. Then she snapped it shut again. She had promised herself she would not risk ruining the chances of the two of them admitting their feelings for each other—it had taken enough work to get them to confess to her separately. So, instead, she just said lightly, “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not his type, anyway: apparently, he’s into psychiatrists.”

“Oh, you mean Dr. Lecter?” said Jimmy, looking up from his work.

“I was talking about Dr. Bloom, but he and Lecter do have a weird sort of thing going on, don’t they?”

“They’re both weirdos,” said Brian, making a face. “You could do better, Bev.”

“Says the person who slept with Freddie Lounds.”

“Hey, we don’t talk about that,” said Brian, throwing a handful of dowels at her.

“I might need those,” complained Jimmy.

“Oh calm down, there are extras.”

There were not extras. After searching the couch cushions for several minutes they came up with three, causing the coffee table to have one wonky leg. “It adds charm,” suggested Brian. Jimmy gave him the side-eye and he and Beverly sorted through the piles of stuff that had been on the previous table.

“Okay, the plates and mugs go in the sink, and the DVDs can go on the bottom shelf, and I think, possibly, if we stack the books right, you will actually be able to see your TV screen,” said Jimmy. Beverly clapped her hands.

“You’re the best, Jimmy.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

“Hey, can we get Italian takeout?” inquired Brian, who was studying his phone. “There’s a new place I’ve been wanting to try.”

“I was kind of thinking Indian,” said Beverly absently.

“No, remember what happened to Jimmy last time?”

“Hey,” said Jimmy, stopping his stacking. “It’s not my fault I have a sensitive stomach!”

“Italian it is then,” said Beverly. “You call, Brian.” She paused. “Wait, when did I say you two were eating over here?”

“Too late,” said Brian. “Their phone is ringing.”

Beverly couldn’t help but grin as she carried the large stack of dishes into the kitchen. When she returned, Jimmy was holding up Alfred Hitchcock’s _The Birds._ “You know, I’ve never actually seen this movie.”

“Wow, seriously?” said Beverly. “Well, that’s what we’re doing tonight, then.”

When the food arrived, they all squished together on Beverly’s beaten-up couch. “Maybe we should have gotten the Knislinge,” she said. Brian shook his head. 

“Absolutely not. Can you imagine what a time we’d have fitting that through the door?”

“Fair point.”

“Shh, it’s starting,” said Jimmy.

Brain and Beverly then proceeded to whisper-argue for the duration of the movie about whether it was horror or thriller, what was the difference, and whether or not Rod Taylor was attractive, taking breaks only to stuff their faces with toasted ravioli. Jimmy, used to the two of them talking during movies, successfully ignored them.

After the movie was over, Brian picked up Beverly and spun her in a circle. Jimmy, never overly fond of physical affection, gave her a quick side hug. She waved them out the door and then flopped back down across the couch.

 _You know you have a good job,_ she thought, _when you’re excited to see your coworkers again when you leave work._

She smiled at the ceiling.

Three weeks later, Beverly came into work and interrupted Jimmy and Brian before they could finish saying hello. “Promise not to laugh,” she said, “But I need a new coffee table…”


End file.
